


Bittersweet

by orphan_account



Category: Hooten & the Lady (TV), Hooten and the Lady
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Future Fic, Season 1 Finale Spoilers, UST, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8914138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She let it happen. And it didn’t feel wrong, didn’t seem unnatural or forced. It was simply how they said goodbye now, simply two people connecting one final time before parting. Laced with no passion, nothing for Ed to be concerned about (she swore to herself), but with the remnants of a grudging respect that had turned into a tight bond, that led to sadness when they parted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The Caribbean post-ep, and beyond.

THE CARIBBEAN POST-EP (and beyond)

\--

 

“There’s no bears,” Hooten said in an attempt to convince Alex, convince himself, that they were fine, everything was fine. Sure, they were tied to a wooden structure in the middle of the Hon Gai Peninsula, miles from the nearest village, but they were fine. They had this. “They’re messing with us.”

A low growl emanated from the forest, and two heads turned, slow, almost disbelieving, towards the sound.

“What was that?” Alex asked. She would have folded her arms across her chest if they hadn’t been tied to the wooden beam behind her head. Instead she let her tone say it all. _Bear, Hooten, and if you try to tell me it was anything else I will maim you myself._

Turning to her, Hooten attempted a half-hearted, “The wind?”

“Wind doesn’t growl,” she replied, the last word pure onomatopoeia as it rumbled out from her own throat.

“An angry wind?”

She was going to kill him. She was actually going to kill him. This was it, the moment she finally snapped. She’d let the bear have a go at him first, and then she’d revive him only to murder him all over again. He was rather lucky her hands were fettered or at the very least she would have slapped him. “Or a bear.”

Branches shook in the forest, bending and groaning under the weight of the animal as it moved closer. It was closing the distance, and desperation seeped in. The time for joking was over. They needed a plan. Now.

“Okay I read something somewhere about how to survive a bear attack,” Hooten said, his voice a little lower now, leaning in closer to Alex as he spoke, like maybe if the bear didn’t hear them it wouldn’t eat them. Okay, so it was unlikely, but worth a shot.

“Oh good.” Her voice held hope. “What do we do?”

“You're supposed to play dead. You lay on your stomach and put your hands behind your neck.”

The urge to slap him returned. “Lay on your stomach?” She nodded her head, accepting her fate. Yeah, either way, he was dead, and she didn’t fancy her own chances.

“Not so easy being tied up, I guess,” he accepted.

Genuinely scared now, Alex almost pleaded, “Okay, what else did it say?”

“I don’t really remember. I got bored after the playing dead part,” he admitted, his own voice laced with desperation now. At her death glare, he said, “There were pictures of women on the other page.”

Writhing her hands behind her, she turned to him, forgetting the need to be quiet, and reminded him, “I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon. Instead I’m tied up about to be eaten by a bear while my new husband thinks I’m out shopping for a hat.” Because _hat_ seemed so much more innocent than _treasure-hunting with Hooten._ Hooten, who was already a little bit of a sore spot in their relationship. Not that Edward ever said anything but she saw it, in the little lines at the corners of his eyes, in the sudden thinning of his lips, signs that he’d really rather not hear about _that man_ again. The man who stole her interest all too often, and sent her running to catch the next flight. The man who was the complete opposite of Ed, and whose company she shouldn’t enjoy, and yet… despite being tied to bamboo, about to be eaten by a bear, she’d rather be here, with him, than braving the busy streets, haggling over something she didn’t really need. If she survived this, she’d have to anyway, to keep up the pretence. She would buy some ghastly tourist-trap merchandise and wear it ironically. _Good job, Alex. One week into this marriage and you’re already lying to your husband to spend time with another man._

“Now that you are married what are you doing about the whole name thing?”

“What?” Alex asked, shaking her head in disbelief at the change in topic. How was that question going to get them out of this mess? God, he was infuriating.

“Well you already had five names,” he reminded her, his hands working behind his head, his features crinkling up in concentration despite the flippancy in his tone. “So are you now... Lady Alexandra Diana Elizabeth Lindo-Parker Fahquard? Your credit card must be three feet long.”

“This is not helping,” she growled.

“No, but this is,” he announced, pulling his arms forward, snapping the rope he had frayed against a sharpened edge, and displaying his free wrists before her. He wiggled his fingers and grinned.

Damn him. If she twisted her wrists a little more she could get out of this herself; she could feel the rope loosening, and it pissed her off that he’d freed himself first. Not that it was a competition. But it absolutely was. And now he was going to be a smug bastard for the rest of the afternoon. Another score on the HOOTEN SAVED ALEX’S LIFE. AGAIN. List.

She was almost free… almost…

And then he was behind her, cutting the rope with the knife he’d dug from the depths of his pocket.

“I hate you,” she muttered, yanking her hands down and rubbing at her raw wrists to resume blood flow.

“You’re welcome,” he quipped. He jumped down, and then turned to her. “Head start?”

Nodding, Alex then jumped the small distance to the ground and jutted her chin towards the east. “I suggest we run.”

“I’ll accept that suggestion,” he agreed. They fell into pace beside each other, moving quickly towards the nearest town, neither having any idea how far away it was, just needing to put distance between themselves and the bear.

“So, we gonna talk about it?” he huffed as they ran.

“What?” she breathed out on a jolted puff of air.

“You spending time with me on your honeymoon.”

“Because now is the best time?” she almost shrieked at him, breathless and incredulous.

“Good a time as any.”

“If you want to survive this I suggest you shut up and run.”

“We can discuss it later.”

“Highly doubtful.”

They ran, until they reached a road, where Hooten flagged down transportation to the outskirts of Bãi Cháy. Alex gripped the side of the cart as they bounced down a road littered with sharp rocks that jutted up, throwing them all off balance. The anticipated flipping of the cart never came and once they’d reached the resort town, Hooten helped her off the back of the cow-pulled cart with more chivalry than usual, and pointed her towards a bar. “It’s five pm somewhere,” he quipped. 

She dropped down heavily on the wooden bench outside the bar, seeking shade under the canopy. Hooten ordered two beers as he took a seat beside her. And then - he started laughing. She stared at him in surprise, for a moment, but it wasn’t long before the laughter became contagious and she joined him, the hilarity of the situation they’d just escaped fuelled more by adrenaline than humour - and they both knew it.

Heaving in a deep breath, Hooten said, “Bears.” He shook his head. “I can tick that one off the bucket list.”

“Your bucket list is going to get you killed.” She sobered. “With nothing to show for it.”

He turned and gave her a sideways glance.

“I mean today,” she explained. “We could have ended up in a bear’s stomach, and for what?”

“The adventure.”

“I’d much rather have something tangible, something to--”

“Sell.”

“--take back to the museum.”

“So we failed? Big deal. Neither one of us is officially here anyway.”

She threw him a suspicious glance. “You’re going to try again, aren’t you?”

“If I happen to be in a position to possibly obtain the money--”

“You mean the Buddha.”

“Potato, potahto.”

“Well if you suspect you might possibly be in such a position again - call me.”

“So you can buy a matching purse to go with your new hat?”

“Something like that.” She let out a much heavier sigh than she’d expected, and then shook her head at herself. Raising her eyes to meet Hooten’s curious ones, she said, “I’m not taking his name.”

“Too short for you?”

“Just a personal choice.”

“Like being here with me instead of … Listen, Alex, I remember my honeymoon. I remember an entire weekend of only leaving the bed for necessities. What gives?”

“He wants kids,” she admitted, the words tumbling out without hesitation. “A month from now it could be all over. I just don’t want to miss an opportunity.”

“Go,” he told her. “Have kids. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

“But the last six months have been--”

“Painful, infuriating--”

“Wonderful,” she said, cutting him off. “I’d miss it. I’d miss… all of it.”

“Is Lady Alexandra saying she would miss me?” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning surprise. “I’m touched.”

“We’re partners,” she reminded him. “But instead you’ll become the roguish uncle who turns up every few years, with nappies made from the shroud of Turin, or ancient Babylonian rattles for the baby to suck on, probably still covered in dirt. Or,” she said, pausing to take an uneven breath, “some guy I never see again.”

“The first one,” he admitted. “I’m the first one.”

“Promise?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Cross my heart.” He gave her a sad smile. “Don’t wait, Alex. Don’t put off starting a family. This - us - it’ll always be there. Anytime. You just call.”

There was such sincerity in his tone. “You’ve changed, Hooten. You never used to be this nice to me this often.”

“You changed me.”

He’d said it so softly she almost didn’t hear it. “What?” she asked, needing the words to be repeated.

“You changed me,” he said again, his tone more sure this time.

“One time,” she said, leaning closer to him. “You said one time, and you wouldn’t tell Ed.”

“I was joking,” he replied, shell-shocked. “Kinda.”

“If this is it, if this is the last time, then thank you. For all of it.” She bridged the distance and brushed her lips across his. Soft, chaste, just a whisper of a kiss. Not passionate or desperate, just grateful and sweet. And he didn’t deepen it, or pull her closer, but he dropped a hand to her arm, squeezed it gently, and welcomed the contact.

“Technically that’s the second time we’ve kissed,” he murmured once she had pulled back.

“No. You kissed my cheek. That doesn’t count.” Her heart was heavy, threatening to be enveloped by a deep sadness rising up from the pit of her stomach. “Goodbye, Hooten,” she whispered as she rose to her feet, forcing herself to stop putting it off.

“Till next time,” he corrected, gazing up at her with hope tinging his sad eyes.

She nodded, and walked away, to the nearest market, to buy that damn hat, and pretend her day had been uneventful and happy.

 

* * *

 

Seven months. Of trying. Of hearing Ed say, “This time it’ll happen, Alex. I can feel it.” Of seeing the hopeful anticipation in his eyes when she was late. Of seeing that hope fade when the test was negative. Of sex becoming a chore.

Of missing Hooten.

There had been texts, fired back and forth, when one was drunk and the other replied.

_You knocked up yet?_

_No._

_It’ll happen for you._

 

Or working late in the lab and remembering the thrill of it all.

_I miss you._

_She finally admits it._

_I know you miss me too._

_Every damn day._

 

But there was no request, for her to join him. No sudden appearance by her when he knew she was watching the miles rack up on the Museum credit card. He was still working, still sending artefacts back. He’d even handed one in himself once. But she had been in Bath, unearthing an aqueduct beneath ancient Aquae Sulis, and she had missed him.

And she missed him.

 

Month eight stretched ahead of her. She sat up, drinking herbal tea, anything with caffeine or alcohol recently having been banned (self-imposed, which she regretted daily) while they tried. Ed slept soundly in the next room, while she sat on the front step, bundled up against the bitter bite of late London winter. Her phone chirped, and she smiled, because only one person would text her this late.

_Up the duff?_

_No. I promised to tell you when I was._

_First, right?_

_Of course._

_So maybe I can help…_

_Oh?_

_Venus figurine. Older than the Venus of Hohle Fels. Intact fertility amulet. Meet me in Stuttgart._

_On my way._

 

* * *

 

"He wants to try IVF." She sat on the bench in the departure lounge, still brushing spider webs and dust out of her hair, looking exactly like she'd spent the last forty-eight hours in a cave, her eyes ignoring the looks from fellow travellers and focused solely on the figurine in her hand. The admission had been dancing on her tongue since he'd met her at the airport three days ago, but only now, in this crowded airport, with the Cro-Magnon fertility goddess resting in her palm, did she speak the words. Words she had told no one, not even her mother. "We haven't yet been trying for a full year and already he's talking about seeing fertility doctors."

“Have faith,” he rumbled. His voice was hoarse, from calling out to her when he’d stumbled down a sudden drop in the cave system, the tips of his fingers clinging to little more than loose sod, her hand reaching out and taking hold of him just in time - saving him. If he had done this without her, he’d be dead now. Or maybe it was roughened by emotion, thick with sorrow she couldn’t quell and had unwittingly passed on to him.

“In?”

He nodded at the mother goddess, all exaggerated hips and boobs. “The power of Venus.”

“I don’t believe in it, Hooten. It’s just a clay figurine. It holds no power.”

“So why did you come then?”

She ran the pad of her index finger over the dusty head of the figure, but refused to meet his eyes. “You know why.”

He was silent, and she almost turned to glance at him, to make sure he was still there, when he replied, “For one night, try and believe in it. What’ve you got to lose?”

“My job for not handing an artefact in right away.” She sighed as she listened to the announcement, muffled over the PA system, first in German and then in English. “That’s my flight.”

It was the rueful edge to her tone that had him gently nudging her with his elbow. When she looked up, he bridged the small distance with a gentle smile playing on his lips.

The Venus figurine clenched tight in her sweaty palm, her mouth preoccupied, she didn’t slap him or talk her way out of it. She let it happen. And it didn’t feel wrong, didn’t seem unnatural or forced. It was simply how they said goodbye now, simply two people connecting one final time before parting. Laced with no passion, nothing for Ed to be concerned about (she swore to herself), but with the remnants of a grudging respect that had turned into a tight bond, that led to sadness when they parted.

“For luck,” he said, his tone casual, after he had pulled away.

“The kiss or the amulet?”

“Both.”

A sad smile flittered across her lips. “Bye, Hooten.”

“Till next time, Lady Alexandra.”

 

* * *

 

She told him. First. As promised. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet, the positive test in one hand, her phone in the other, texting Hooten her news.

 _Gotta love Venus eh?_ He texted back in reply.

She supposed it was his way of congratulating her.

 

* * *

 

And after the ultrasound at twenty weeks, announcing the news of the baby’s sex, she laughed along with Ella as her colleague watched the text conversation take place.

 

_Ulysses is a good strong name._

_I am not naming my son Ulysses._

_Odysseus then._

_You’re dreaming._

 

“Perhaps a middle name though?” Ella suggested.

“Let’s not put that idea in his head.”

 

* * *

 

Curled up on the chair in the recently finished nursery, she sat sipping warm ginger tea with her phone sitting on her lap, screen dark, and she thought maybe this was it, the end of their texting, the end of their friendship. She texted, sent him little updates, on the pregnancy, her marriage, work. He had stopped replying four weeks prior. The last activity on the credit card some six weeks ago had put him in Colombia, and she wondered if she'd lost him. He'd fallen off a cliff in Guyana, or crossed paths with Guerrillas in Middle-of-Nowhere Venezuela, and without her there to save him he was gone. All calls had gone straight to voice mail, his phone off. She'd been awoken by some nasty reflux, a wonderful gift late into the pregnancy, and, summoning what little faith she had left, she sent him one more text:

 

_I’m scared. For you. Tell me you’re ok? Stop stressing out the pregnant woman._

The screen lit up. _The Darién Gap is insane, Alex. You gotta come with me next time. Back in civilization now. Stop worrying. I’m fine. How’s the little kick-boxer?_

_Next time send me a text BEFORE you leave civilisation. Baby’s fine but I’m terrified._

_Why?_

_I’m really not sure I can do this._

_You can. You will. You’ll be great._

_What if the kid hates me?_

_Listen, Alex, you put up with me. You’re going to be a natural at this mom stuff._

_You were easy._

_I doubt that. Hey, I’m happy for you Alex. I haven’t said it. But I am._

 

Was she happy though? Ed was. And she wanted a kid. She did. But… it didn’t seem fair. It felt like she had ditched Hooten. Not that he’d complain, in fact he regularly told her how peaceful it was out there without her. Not until he was rip-roaringly drunk, and admitted, in garbled auto-corrected text, how close he’d come to death because she hadn’t been there. Or how he’d almost phoned for help with a map - _a puzzle from hell_ \- but had chickened out (not that he admitted to chickening out, but it had been implied, between the lines she’d actually been able to decipher).

 

 _Come visit?_ She asked, sending the message before she could delete it.

_I’ll try._

 

* * *

 

Three weeks later, one photo, and one line of text, that was all she sent - but it told him everything she had never quite been able to say to him.

_Henry Ulysses “Fahquard”. 12:03am._

 

He replied within seconds:

_I’m honored. He looks like Ed… tell the kid I’m sorry._

 

Silence. Then a second text:

_Seriously, Alex, he’s beautiful. Congrats. You did good._

 

More silence. Then a third:

_He’s gonna be a heartbreaker._

 

And one final text, one last line, three words, that made it all so bittersweet:

_Like his mom._

 

And suddenly this new beginning felt like the saddest of endings.

 


End file.
